


Reunion

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins, M/M, Murder, New York City, Psychic Abilities, Siblings, Tokyo (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-29
Updated: 2004-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story started as part of the "first lines" meme, and then grew and grew. It's a <i>Weiß Kreuz</i> AU - at some point after the OVAs and before <i>Glühen</i>, Aya has emigrated to the USA in an attempt to forget his past as an assassin. His past, however, isn't in the mood to be forgotten. Thank you to Louise Lux for beta reading!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as part of the "first lines" meme, and then grew and grew. It's a _Weiß Kreuz_ AU - at some point after the OVAs and before _Glühen_ , Aya has emigrated to the USA in an attempt to forget his past as an assassin. His past, however, isn't in the mood to be forgotten. Thank you to Louise Lux for beta reading!

_I. America_

It's not a dark alley they meet in, but a vast, brightly lit ballroom in Los Angeles. Crawford smiles with real humour and walks away from the girl he's been using as cover.

"White wine, please," he says in Japanese and watches the waiter's back stiffen in shock.

Aya spins round, dropping the tray. Crawford has already stepped aside, not wanting his suit splashed. He laughs as Aya tries to disguise the fact he's just gone for a non-existent sword.

"Fujimiya. I see you've gone down in the world. Or are you here on assignment?"

 _Schuldig_ , he calls, loud as he can. _Look what I found._

A moment's pause, then, _Well, well. The lost kitten. How pathetic, he really is a waiter. Oh, and he hates you_.

Aya glares at him, and Crawford reaches casually into his pocket. For a moment he sees the hope in the boy's eyes, as if he'd welcome being put down, but then Crawford pulls out a twenty dollar bill and tucks it into Aya's hand.

"Buy yourself a sandwich later," he says maliciously. "Now if you'll excuse me, some of us have friends to get back to."

He walks away. Amusement over. Back to work.

  


* * *

  
They are walking to the car when Crawford gasps, "To your left!"

Schuldig whirls and punches, and Aya drops at their feet, a knife clattering to the ground. Crawford turns him over with a kick.

"You really want to die?" Schuldig mutters, his gun at Aya's head.

"Wait," Crawford says. "Hold him." Schuldig lifts Aya, pinioning his arms behind him. "Hey, Fujimiya," Crawford says. "Did I ever tell you you've got pretty hair?"

Schuldig laughs in Aya's ear.

"He likes red-heads, believe me."

Aya's eyes widen in disbelief as Crawford kicks his feet apart and slides a hand down his trousers.

"Relax," Crawford says, concentrating on his task. "How've you been?"

The boy stays silent, his obvious hatred blooming into self-disgust as his body betrays him.

 _Getting very close_ , Schuldig giggles in Crawford's mind; he stops as Aya struggles to control his breathing.

"Ask nicely and I'll finish," he says, smiling. "No? Oh, well." He tidies Aya's clothes and watches him stagger as he's released. "Good to see you, Fujimiya," he says, "we must do this again sometime."

"Tschüß," Schuldig says, blowing a kiss.

Behind them, Crawford hears Aya begin to cry. It's the funniest thing he's heard all night.

  


* * *

  
Aya wants revenge. He wants his sword. He wants not to hear Crawford's laughter. He wants to die.

He gets none of these things. Instead he works at his lowly-paid job, eking out a living because he wouldn't take Omi's money. Takatori influence got him his visa and his lonely, free life. Takatori money is something he has sworn he'll never touch himself, although it keeps his sister comfortable.

When he sees Crawford again he simply walks up to the man, who stands there, expecting him.

"Kill me," he says.

Crawford looks at him, eyes blank, then focusing sharply.

"No," he says. He smiles, the cool thin smile that Aya hated from the first, and turns back to his car.

Aya stands bereft. The car door slams and the engine starts. The window opens and Crawford gives him a sly look.

"Get over yourself, Fujimiya, you're not worth killing. Weiß is gone, Schwarz isn't. Accept it."

The window closes again and the car drives away. Aya looks after it, seeing again Crawford's face as he looked into the future and back at him. The smile that promised more pain for Aya, more amusement for Crawford.

 _Weiß isn't gone,_ he promises.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig steps back, lowering the gun. Fujimiya still hasn't seen him, and he feels a moment's contempt for such a mind-blind fool. He has been standing in full sight with a gun naked in his hand and the whole damn normal world has passed him by, just because he can slide _you don't see this_ into their heads.

Crawford's visions don't play him false, but still Schuldig is glad to see the car moving off safely. If Fujimiya had even breathed wrong he would now be dead.

He holsters the gun and jogs round the corner. The car is waiting.

  


* * *

  
Crawford isn't surprised to see Aya in New York. He points him out to Schuldig, who thinks back vibrant images of guns and Aya's head exploding.

"No," Crawford says. "We'll use him. He can give us an in if we need to go back."

"We _have_ an in," Schuldig says. They have had this discussion before.

"Some people forget their old friends," Crawford says. "But not Takatori and Fujimiya."

He walks over, Schuldig sighing dramatically behind him. _He hasn't seen us yet._

"You're a persistent man," Crawford says, coming up silently. "Still want to die?"

Aya starts, but covers it well.

"No," he says. "A dead man couldn't take you down."

"One man can't do anything," Crawford says, maliciously. "Don't you think you're getting rather obsessed over a simple hand-job?"

Aya goes white and shame-faced, seems shocked into immobility as Crawford touches his arm. _Schuldig?_ he thinks.

 _Wide open and feeling like a kid in a tiger-pit. D'you want any specific alterations?_

 _Just make him amenable_ , Crawford thinks, scribbling on a card.

"Be here in three days," he says. "We'll talk further."

Aya takes the card silently and obediently. Pieces are falling into place. Crawford smiles as he walks away.

  


* * *

  
Aya feels light-headed, sitting in an expensive restaurant with his enemies. Crawford examines the menu, Schuldig keeps his eyes on Aya's face.

Crawford orders for them all and watches Aya quietly.

"You followed us," he says. "You think we're still enemies, but we're not interested in fighting."

"You saw my future," Aya says, and Crawford nods.

"You have no future as a waiter," Crawford says decisively. "Your skills lie in other areas."

"Are you offering me a job?" Aya says incredulously.

"No," Crawford says.

"What could you offer _us?_ " Schuldig interrupts. "Read our minds, tell the future."

Aya watches Crawford put a hand on Schuldig's arm, watches Schuldig shut his mouth reluctantly.

"I'm offering you a truce," Crawford says. "I only offer jobs to people I trust."

Aya eats his meal slowly. He has spent all his money in travelling and is very hungry. He wonders where the rest of Schwarz are hiding.

"I know someone who _can_ offer you a job," Crawford says. "As a sign of good faith."

They want him for something, Aya thinks. If he says yes he can find out what they want. They smile at him almost before the word has left his lips.

  


* * *

  
"I don't like this," Schuldig says, his eyes fixed on the TV. "I don't want to go back to Japan."

"We may not have to," Crawford says. "There's a lot to do in America. Still --"

"No. No "still," we're doing all right."

"All right's not good enough," Crawford says, knowing Schuldig is worried, not angry. "We're down to half strength. If someone notices us we'll need somewhere to go."

"I don't want to work for Takatori," Schuldig says, but it's a complaint with no sting. "I don't want to end up working with Weiß; the self-righteous suffering would rot my mind."

"It's just an option," Crawford says.

"Flying to Tokyo and extracting Nagi is also an option."

He sounds sulky, and Crawford rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"We get Fujimiya willing to speak for us to Takatori, we hope Nagi's willing to do the same. It's just one possible future."

"I should have run off too."

"You wouldn't do that," Crawford says, as sure of it as he is of anything.

Schuldig looks at him in sharp annoyance.

"It's possible. Are you planning on sleeping with him?"

Crawford sees the real argument is about to start.

  


* * *

  
Aya is well-fed and well-paid, and it's thanks to people he hates. He guards famous people he has never heard of. He has never been armed. The pay would be better with another firm, but he told Crawford he wanted only legal work. When he sees the man at a party full of diplomats and businessmen he walks over quickly.

"What are you doing here?"

"The same as you," Crawford says. "Eat something, act like a guest."

Aya scans the crowd and jumps as Crawford taps his arm.

"Over there."

Aya looks, sees the bright red hair caught back in a neat plait. It looks almost conservative.

"You should have seen the tantrum. He's very vain about his hair," Crawford says, amused.

Aya is wary. He feels he is being mocked by his inclusion in the joke. He frowns. He has only seen Schuldig with Crawford, in all these meetings.

"Where are the others?" he asks.

"On another job right now," Crawford says easily.

Aya feels a thread of excitement. Only two of them; he stands a chance. Crawford takes glasses from a waiter, offers him his choice. As their fingers touch Aya feels ready. He'll have his revenge yet.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig stalks the outskirts of the party, seething. What Crawford thinks they need such a fool for he can't imagine. Fujimiya plots his pathetic revenge, apparently thinking Schuldig has to be near-by or looking at him to pluck the secrets from his head. It's tempting to consider mentally immobilising him from across the room and peeling his mind open in a crash-course in telepathy, but it might spoil the party atmosphere.

He should book tickets and get them the hell out of here. They don't need anyone else. Wasn't one sulky Japanese boy enough?

He wishes Nagi were with them.

  


* * *

  
When the stalker attacks Aya's client it's a tough fight. The man wields a knife expertly, and the supermodel hampers Aya, clinging to his arm and screaming. Crawford counts the seconds until he can convincingly hear and go help, then runs out. Aya doesn't complain much when he's no longer the only one standing in front of a madman with a knife. The stalker moves like Farfarello; Crawford curses Schuldig's sense of humour, steps in and drops the man with a fist right between the eyes. Schuldig runs up, ostentiously scanning the area.

"All clear!" he calls.

Aya glares at them.

"Why?"

"Our client was also at the premiere," Crawford lies.

"Hello," Schuldig says to the supermodel, who suddenly falls asleep.

"It's all right," Crawford says, "she just won't remember us."

"Why did you _help?_ " Aya says.

"We have a truce," Crawford says. "And we were on the spot."

"Thanks," Aya says, pretty ungraciously for someone who thinks his life has just been saved.

Crawford shrugs, and backs off. _Well?_ he thinks.

Schuldig doesn't look at him, thinks, _I did some work. He'll believe in honour among assassins soon enough._

 _Good_. Crawford waves.

Aya slowly lifts a hand in response.

  


* * *

  
They have run into each other so often that Aya no longer knows if he is following Schwarz, or they him. All he knows is that none of them are ever surprised to see each other, and that they can be polite.

He is sitting in a hotel bar, drinking vodka Crawford buys him, listening to the man talk about American politics. Crawford has become a link to what now seem like simpler times. Aya shudders to think that Schwarz are the only people he knows in America, and downs his drink. A waiter brings another immediately; he gulps it quickly.

Crawford takes his arm and leads him away. His room is softly-lit and comfortable. His hands on Aya's face are gentle. Aya is crying and lonely, and he doesn't want this, not at all, doesn't want to be kissed and held by a murderer, doesn't want to have to wait while Crawford takes off the shoulder-holster and puts the gun out of reach. He doesn't want the warmth of another body, doesn't want the spiralling pleasure, doesn't want Crawford to let go. He doesn't want to cry himself to sleep in Crawford's arms.

But he does all these things.

  


* * *

  
In the morning Crawford is kind and matter-of-fact, with _I guess we both had too much to drink_ and _I'll call you a taxi_. He watches Aya leave and waits for the storm to break. He doesn't wait long.

Schuldig has angry laughter in his eyes. When he speaks, it's too heavily accented for him to be other than furious.

"So pathetic, yes? He wonders if this means he is gay. I want that I should grab him and say 'You were fucked by a man, it was the most exciting thing you ever did, what do you think that means?'"

"Yes. Pathetic," Crawford says, in the vain hope that Schuldig might stop.

"Don't humour me."

"You don't have to be jealous," Crawford says, and Schuldig is on him, straddling his lap and pulling his tie open.

"This isn't _jealous_ , this is _pissed off_."

Crawford knew Aya wanted someone to take care of him, because his own hotline into Aya's mind was sulking next door. But Schuldig knows _him_ , wants _him_ , and afterwards Crawford's left hoping they don't get charged for damaging the sheets.

"He trusts you," Schuldig says, not looking at him.

"I'm sorry," Crawford says, and means it.

  


* * *

  
Aya gets on a bus. Two days later he admits he doesn't know where he's going and takes another bus back. He hates America, and hates Japan and hates himself. He's afraid he doesn't hate Crawford anymore. He thinks of the man's cold laughter and feels instead his arms about him. He remembers how much Crawford likes causing pain, and sees instead a real smile. He remembers fear and humiliation and hears instead Crawford's voice comforting him as he cried.

All the way back he remembers. Crawford, offering him the respect of a real fight. Crawford, laying traps. Crawford, about to take Aya-chan to God-knows-where. Crawford, explaining why the apocalypse shouldn't be resisted. Crawford offering a truce, a job, a meal, a quiet drink, company, comfort, warmth, gentleness, pleasure. He leans his face against the cold window. His cheeks are burning. He should keep running, he thinks, and grimaces for he has never run from anything before.

He goes back to his apartment and eats. He doesn't sleep. The next morning he goes in to work and talks his way into the boss's office.

"Do you have a number for Brad Crawford?" he asks. "I need to speak to him."

  


* * *

  
"We have him," Crawford says, putting down the phone.

"Super," Schuldig says. "So I can't kill him?"

"No," Crawford says. "That'd better be a joke."

"Let's go to China," Schuldig says, "there's always work in China. Or South America somewhere, looking for stolen Nazi treasures. Let's have a weekend in Paris."

"I have a contract lined up in Chicago."

"That'll do. When?" Schuldig's eyes narrow suspiciously. "You're not sending me off to do it while you laze around here with Fujimiya?"

"We're a team," Crawford says firmly. "We do jobs together."

Schuldig relaxes minutely. "All right," he says. "All right."

"We'll be there over the weekend. Plenty of time to make sure our information's correct. We do him early Sunday AM."

Schuldig's positively glowing at the thought of murder as usual. Crawford may as well tell him now.

"I'm seeing Fujimiya tonight. I'll need your expertise, as before."

It doesn't go down well, as he foresaw. Schuldig's nothing if not professional, however, and does what's required. Aya needs less persuasion and alcohol than before, and acts exactly as expected. Crawford manages to turn his stifled laugh at Schuldig's commentary into a pleasant smile, and his plan proceeds as it should.

  


* * *

  
Aya can't believe he's doing this sober. He can't really believe he's doing it at all, but the sensation of having someone who knows him put his arms about him is more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol could be. Aya closes his eyes as Crawford touches and kisses him, telling himself this isn't him, this is happening to someone else.

He opens his eyes at the thought that this _isn't_ him, that Schuldig can make people do what he wants. He tenses in Crawford's arms, but before he can move the logical thought occurs that Schuldig hates him, would never want him here. Schuldig would want him far from Crawford's embrace and further from Crawford's bed. He'd be more likely to influence Aya to run as fast and as far as he could. It's a sensible line of reasoning, and he lets the worry go. Crawford smiles down at him as if a weight has just lifted from his broad shoulders.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, concerned and just as kind as he was before.

"Yes," Aya says, "yes."

This is him, he thinks, this is all him. He is doing this, no other. He pulls Crawford close.

  


* * *

  
Crawford's second time with Fujimiya, Schuldig pretends he didn't argue, cracking jokes that Crawford laughs at mentally, soothing Fujimiya's belated fears.

When Fujimiya's asleep he just sits against the wall, concentrating on Crawford's quiet breathing in the next room.

 _You son of a bitch_ , he thinks. _The things I do for you._ He hopes there really is some point to all this, then hopes there isn't. He doesn't want to run back, begging for Takatori protection. He hates them almost as much as Fujimiya does.

The thought of having something in common with the fool makes him want to spit.

  


* * *

  
Chicago does them both good. Two days of planning, a good dinner on Friday night with Schuldig at his sociable smooth best, sleek and happy. Then Sunday 4AM, and the two of them stalking through well-appointed rooms dealing death to every living thing that has the misfortune to be on the target's floor. Precognition and telepathy, Crawford thinks, are the assassin's ideal accessories.

They take the first plane back to New York, Schuldig flirting with the cabin crew all the way. Crawford yawns and thinks he might sleep. Mass murder isn't as effortless as the movies suggest. If they hadn't been paid to make a very definite point he'd have preferred to take the target alone.

 _Little Aya's going to be so disappointed in us_ , Schuldig's voice says in his mind as he chats up the blondest stewardess.

 _I don't think he's a current-affairs addict_ , Crawford thinks back. _Besides, he says the news programs are too complicated for him to easily follow._

 _There's always Fox._

Crawford snorts with laughter and closes his eyes. He opens them again as the plane descends. A successful well-paid job, Schuldig sitting beside him in a good humour. Everything is exactly as it should be.

  


* * *

  
Aya finds he's disturbingly glad to hear Crawford's voice on the phone. The days since he last saw him have stretched out emptily. He sits on his narrow bed and looks at his mobile phone wryly. He bought it on Crawford's suggestion. It has three numbers programmed into it, Crawford, the security firm, and Schuldig. He remembers the flat, professionally-blank look in Schuldig's eyes as he gave Aya his number, and hopes he never needs to call him.

He agrees to meet them that evening, and spends the day thinking less about the reports he's supposed to submit on his last job than about seeing Crawford. At dinner he is at ease, eating what Crawford suggests, and smiling with him as Schuldig gets worked up more and more on the subject of how much he hates American football and how the German soccer team are the best sportsmen in the world.

"He doesn't even _like_ soccer," Crawford murmurs, his eyes creased with amusement behind the glasses.

Aya is silent, wishing he were alone with Crawford. Schuldig stands lazily.

"See you later, Crawford," he says. He nods at Aya. "Fujimiya."

Aya watches him go. He's glad Schuldig can take a hint.

  


* * * 

  
Schuldig has earned the right to argue and disagree. Crawford doesn't slap _him_ for his wilder ideas, nor is he the one to get locked up in the dark to contemplate his sins. He's put the time and effort in. He's Crawford's partner.

It galls him to see Fujimiya think he can give Crawford his opinion, or disagree on anything at all, be it so small as whether or not to have coffee after dinner.

Schuldig keeps his views on Fujimiya under wraps, keeps his impulses to kill under control.

It's not a matter of jealousy, he thinks. It's seniority.

  


* * *

  
The Chicago murders make the news, but Aya never brings the subject up. Schuldig assures Crawford the topic never even crosses Aya's mind. Crawford is amused by such lack of interest in the world, although it makes things so much easier.

New York in winter is cold. Crawford looks at icicles hanging from buildings and indulges in fantasies of Hawaii. He won't do it, not yet. Schuldig would think it a ploy for getting him nearer to Japan.

When the nightmares hit, he is alone. He wakes from horror to horror, seeing Nagi's face bloodied and broken, Farfarello a twisted, lifeless heap, Schuldig screaming and engulfed in flames. He himself is bleeding to death, although he can't tell from where. The images are sharp but meaningless, mixed in with nonsense images of his team laughing, planning, eating. The pounding, nauseating headache tells him it is not just a bad dream. _When?_ he thinks, _Where?_ It's too far away, and the images begin to slip and slide.

When he thinks they've finally gone he is overwhelmed with the stench of burning flesh and sees what's left of Schuldig. He can't even make it to the bathroom before he vomits himself empty.

  


* * *

  
Aya thinks he may be beginning to like America. The Christmas decorations are gaudy and bright, and he feels almost at home. Looking in a jeweller's window he sees tray upon tray of golden earrings, and thinks how pretty they would look in Aya-chan's ears. The thought comes back to him, as he thinks that he has spent very little of his salary on anything other than rent and food. The next day he is strong enough to enter the shop and buy a pair. He will keep them, he thinks, that will be enough for him. She needn't be bothered with reminders of her useless brother.

He doesn't consider buying Crawford a present. He doesn't know what the man likes, what he would find useful. Besides, if he bought something for Crawford, he'd have to buy something for Schuldig, and that thought is not to be borne. It is becoming clearer to Aya that the only gift the man would want from him is his sudden and painful death.

He almost feels sorry for Schuldig, but then thinks of Aya-chan in his keeping, and is glad he has taken away something the assassin so greatly values. Let him hurt.

  


* * *

  
Crawford keeps his visions to himself. Images seen in the far future are changeable and need not come true. It is not that he is afraid to think about them, although it takes some days before he stops hearing the crackle of flames when Schuldig speaks. There is no profit in thinking about what might be, rather than what he can force to be. The future will become clearer. It always does.

It's because he is busy not thinking that he ignores premonitions of danger one night with Aya. Schuldig has just complained of boredom and Crawford sees fire in his mind's-eye.

"Doesn't Schuldig care about this?" Aya asks, triumphantly, and Crawford's precognition snaps in with a vision of death and fury. "Doesn't he love you?"

The sensation of quiet in Crawford's mind is the silence that comes before the earthquake or a scouring fire. _Stay where you are!_ Crawford screams in his mind as he hears flesh sizzle and flames roaring. For a man with no concept of boundaries, Schuldig is very private about some things. _Please_ , Crawford begs, as images of fire and Schuldig shooting Aya mix behind his eyes.

The door doesn't open. The world doesn't end.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig is in Boston. If he takes the evening flight he will land in Dublin at six AM. He'll rent a car and find Farfarello. The damn country's not that big, he should have them both back in Dublin that night to catch a late flight somewhere. They'll plan an extraction, and have Nagi within a week, a fortnight at most. Then they'll lead prosperous, murderous lives the way they used to, the way they should. There's always work for men of their skill and experience, they'll have a good time.

And Brad fucking Crawford can just fuck right off.

  


* * *

  
Crawford tries Schuldig's phone yet again to find it still switched off. It's probably been dumped, as Schuldig has every bit as much paranoia about being traced as he himself does. If it weren't for the fact that Crawford needs his phone he'd be flinging it against the wall in frustration.

He can't believe that Schuldig is gone, and gone so quietly. He should have waited for morning. They should have had a fight, he thinks, should have screamed in fury at each other and drawn weapons. The world doesn't make sense if Schuldig can just walk out of his room in the middle of the night and be gone. It feels like he's lost his right hand or his favourite gun.

He didn't see this. It was about to happen, it was happening, it happened right next door and he didn't see it. It's the future visions, he knows, though they shouldn't be so strong, so compelling. He runs a hand through his hair and sees blood on his fingers. He isn't wounded now, and the future blood fades slowly from his sight.

There's no point in worrying about it, he decides, and buries his face in his hands.

  


* * *

  
Aya finds himself in vogue at Christmas parties. His hair and eyes look well with formal wear, the clients think. The latest client likes Asian security staff at their party, and Aya finds himself surrounded by Korean and Chinese guards.

The job goes off without a hitch. During his break Aya rings Crawford. He hasn't seen him for over a week.

"Aya," Crawford says. His voice is cool and calm, and Aya tries not to smile.

"I'm working at a very boring party," Aya says in Japanese. "One of the guests called me an 'inscrutable Oriental.'"

"Did you kill them?"

Crawford sounds vaguely interested, which is how he expresses mild humour. Aya laughs, and refuses to think that he is joking about murder with Schwarz.

"Can we meet later?" he asks.

There's a pause, then, "Yes. I'll pick you up."

When everything is finally over, Aya finds Crawford's car waiting for him.

"Can we go to your apartment?" Crawford asks. "I'm sick of my hotel."

Aya has never had a guest before, and can only offer Crawford tea. In bed he is more urgent than usual and holds Aya tight afterwards.

Aya doesn't ask questions. Neither of them ever do.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig never gets to Dublin. As the plane descends towards Shannon he wakes abruptly, a feeling of wrongness rushing through him. Someone's watching him, he thinks, and the watcher isn't on the plane. _Shit_. Someone _strong_.

He gets off to stretch his legs, smiling sleepily at the stewardess who tells him not to dawdle. Fifteen minutes later he's in a stolen car, making random turns on unknown, dark roads.

Eventually he risks getting on a major road and speeds for the border. From Belfast he flies to London to Barcelona and back to America. He feels watched all the way.

  


* * *

  
Crawford puts down the paper, folding it neatly. The story of a collapsed building in Pennsylvania is of no interest except that he knows a telepath lives in the area. Schwarz weren't the only ones to get free of Eszett, and America is a good place to get lost in. He rings the number in the paper, representing himself as a worried relative. He gives the name, gets confirmation. He doubts there was anyone else there worth killing. Two hundred people dead to ensure one target's elimination. _Sloppy_ , he thinks. He considers the Chicago job. This too might be a message.

He closes his eyes, thinking of Schuldig. He cannot see his future at all. It's as if he has vanished from existence. Crawford would almost rather still see the flames.

If he is alone, he must act to secure his own safety. He needs his team, and the strongest member he _knows_ is still living is in Tokyo. He should ring Fujimiya and persuade him to talk to Takatori. He should contact Nagi.

He wants to hear an ally's voice, but won't ring Aya yet. He won't be _weak_. He sits at the table, staring sightlessly at the paper.

  


* * *

  
Crawford makes himself wait a day, reading all the international papers he can buy, looking for patterns. He is certain that he's found at least another two cases of psychics being killed. Whether the killer is Eszett or someone else, he knows he needs someone who can provide backing. He can see two possible paths for the future. Aya laughing scornfully, telling him to rot. Aya agreeing to help, starry-eyed. Both have drawbacks. He starts to dial, and freezes, seeing that the door will open.

 _Put the fucking phone down._

He turns, carefully. Schuldig's gun is steady.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Crawford asks. He doesn't see his death here.

"Something's following me," Schuldig says.

"Not on my orders."

His gun is still trained on Crawford's face. He looks drained, as if he's been running ever since he went. He lowers the gun and Crawford takes a careful step closer.

"You _left_ ," he says.

"Did I surprise you?"

Crawford makes no answer, which is its own answer. _You came back._

 _Huh. Fujimiya's a fool, and he's wrong about me._

"OK," Crawford says, and grabs him. _Don't leave again._

Schuldig doesn't reply in words, but he makes himself clear anyway.

  


* * *

  
Crawford knows the right steps to take in any situation, and Schuldig sees that hasn't changed.

Step One: bed.

Step Two: room service.

Schuldig would like to repeat steps one and two, but Crawford's always a man with a plan, so,

Step Three: Crawford's visions and the pattern of psychics' deaths.

Step Four: the presence that Schuldig has felt follow him in his travels.

Step Five: the personal shit. Struck from the list by mutual non-discussed agreement.

Step Six: dealing with steps three and four.

"Tokyo. Takatori," Crawford says.

"Nagi's strong," Schuldig says.

It's agreement and they both know it.

  


* * *

  
Aya is waiting in a Japanese restaurant. He hopes Crawford comes soon. There's a casual whirlwind of movement and Schuldig stands before him, grinning down with the kind of wide cheerful smile a man might give a friend. Aya, not for the first time, itches to close his hand around a sword hilt.

"Evening, Fujimiya," Schuldig says, dropping into a chair and casually draping one arm down over the back.

"I haven't seen you for a while," Aya says.

"I was doing a job," Schuldig says, and grins wider as Aya wonders whom he's been killing.

Aya checks his watch, not bothering to be subtle. Schuldig orders a beer, chattering on and on about the weather, American girls, the fact that crime really _does_ pay and eventually tells Aya that Crawford apologises, and will be late.

"Unforeseen circumstances," Schuldig says, and laughs. He's deep into a monologue on how bizarre it is that German villains in American films tend to have English accents when Crawford makes his appearance.

"Thank you," Crawford says. "Was he very annoying?" he asks Aya.

"Of course. My work here is done. Tschüß," Schuldig says, and goes.

Crawford holds out a hand. Aya takes it gladly.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig has many qualities that Crawford appreciates, including his ability to do deadly serious work with his mind while the most frivolous nonsense drivels from his mouth. Aya seems hypnotised by the sheer quantity of verbal anaesthesia. The sign that Schuldig's been successful here is quite simple. Aya Fujimiya is holding hands with his erstwhile enemy in a public place.

Confident he's facing a compliant, suggestible state of mind, Crawford starts talking about how hard it is to ever go home, how much he loved Japan, how much he misses Nagi. Schuldig, lurking nearby, shows him Aya's thoughts: bright, children's books' views of Tokyo, his sister as a small child holding tight to his little-boy hand with pudgy fingers. All the darkness and death is washed away by nostalgia, home-sickness and telepathy.

"Nagi's not with you?" Aya says. "He's not with Schwarz?"

"He's in Tokyo. He was so tired and wanted to go home," Crawford says with exactly the right touch of sadness. "I just wish I could see him, you know? He's like my little brother."

Aya's grip on his hand tightens sympathetically. Crawford leans forward.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Yes. Of course," Aya says.

  


* * *

  
Crawford lies awake, looking at the ceiling. Even if the light was on he wouldn't see it properly. His glasses are lying lost on the floor, and he really should get out of bed and put them somewhere safe. Being needed makes Aya eager and untidy, it seems. _Ran_ , he thinks, remembering the intent, glowing expression and insistent use of his first name. They have never used each other's personal names before; Schuldig has warned him that Aya won't want his name used in the morning.

 _Schuldig?_ Crawford thinks. There's no answer. He's either not interested or asleep. Cautiously, Crawford allows himself to think about the future. He still sees blood and fire, but now there's something else, a thick black fury held under tight control. It feels familiar. _Nagi_ , he thinks in satisfaction. Three-quarters of Schwarz in the same city, at long last.

Aya shifts in his sleep, and Crawford touches him lightly. He has exactly what he wants from him, and is pleased. Sustained contact and Schuldig's expertise means Aya is convinced of Crawford's good intentions, towards him at least. Like all the best lies it is not untrue, seen from certain angles, in certain lights. Crawford sighs.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig is dreaming. He sees his team, doing what they do best. He sees them killing Eszett's leaders, he sees intricate assassinations planned and executed. He laughs at Farfarello's amazingly inappropriate jokes, peers over Nagi's shoulder at lines of computer code, talks his way around Crawford's moods. He understands these people, he knows how they act, how they react to him. He feels perfectly content, and turns over in his sleep.

He half wakes, thinking that Crawford is shaking him, but he's alone and warm, quickly sinking back into his dream.

Just the four of them, like it should be.

  


* * *

  
Aya feels great compassion for Crawford. He would not believe protestations of a desire to live quietly, or declarations of morals suddenly discovered. He knows all too well, however, the feelings of being adrift, of looking around and finding oneself alone and longing for familiar faces. He knows he cannot ask Crawford for morality, being himself a murderer and damned, and is glad the man can give him other options. Aya knows it must cost Crawford's pride dear to say he would bind himself to Takatori and Kritiker in exchange for a restored chance at friendship, family.

Aya thinks of his sister. He thinks of Crawford's face as he speaks of Nagi and wonders if that is how he looks when he thinks of Aya-chan. How foolish never to speak of her. How foolish to have left her when she was restored to him at last.

No one should be so alone, he thinks. He will see Aya-chan. He will help Crawford. The boy who was his friend still feels guilty about his old life, his new life. He will do Aya one last favour, if asked out of friendship.

For Crawford, Aya will pretend Takatori Mamoru is still Omi.

  


* * *

  
Crawford has few preparations to make. Schwarz has always lived as simply as possible, with nothing that cannot be abandoned at a moment's notice. They are wealthy enough to buy replacements for material goods wherever they go, and the only things they have always refused to abandon are each other. He wonders how it was that his team split up, could have found other people to give them what the team should have. He wonders what he did wrong.

"Are we getting Farfarello?" Schuldig asks. His voice is casual, as if he doesn't care one way or the other.

"He wouldn't come, you know that," Crawford says.

"One flight, one day to get him, we bring his woman along or kill her, I don't care. Come on, Crawford, the damn country doesn't even have an armed police-force. It'd be easy."

Crawford snorts with dry amusement.

"Kidnap or murder. That'll work."

Schuldig looks aside, working to clear his expression of frustration. Crawford does what he's wanted to, now that he can cover it with indulgence for a team-mate. He places a trans-Atlantic call, and dials a number he has never before used.

"This is Crawford," he says. "Shut up and listen."

  


* * *

  
They leave New York suddenly. All their bills are paid till the end of the month. Crawford books two return tickets to Chicago, thinking fondly back on the last big job. Everything looks as if he and Schuldig will return quickly. Then he drives sedately through the city, arriving at the security firm as Aya comes out the door. He has even less luggage than Crawford and Schuldig, and jumps into the backseat with an air of excitement. On the outskirts of the city they change cars, Schuldig stealing them an anonymous sedan. Twenty miles later Crawford stops for coffee, warning them there will be no more stops for hours. When Schuldig comes back from the bathrooms Crawford notes with satisfaction that he finishes his coffee trustingly. Aya never noticed the drug being added to the cup, and is surprised when Schuldig falls asleep mid-sentence.

"He's had a long week," Crawford says, changing direction and taking the route dictated by chance and the coin he flipped in the diner. Whatever has been watching Schuldig can whine in fury.

When Schuldig wakes again four hundred miles later, he's spitting mad but won't show it in front of Aya.

They drive on.

  


* * *

  
They drive in shifts, eating junk food and drinking too much coffee. Aya never wants to eat Western food again, and his heart sinks when Crawford tells him to pull into a car-park dominated by McDonalds signs. They don't get food right away, Crawford tossing him and Schuldig disposable razors and telling them to make themselves presentable. Only when they are washed and shaved and changed into clean clothes will he allow them to eat.

"Where the fuck are we?" Schuldig asks.

"The outskirts of Kansas City," Crawford says, "we're flying from here."

"Oh, thank _Christ_ ," Schuldig says. "One more hour in that car and I'd have killed you both."

Aya says nothing, but keeps a close watch on where Schuldig has his hands.

"It's a fucking _joke_ , Fujimiya," Schuldig says wearily.

"You both have very distinctive hair colours and styles," Crawford says, "I'd suggest we cut --"

"No!" Aya and Schuldig chorus, and look at each other in disgust.

Crawford looks at their faces and begins to laugh. Aya has never heard him laugh so much, and in a public place. It's only now he sees how much strain Crawford is under.

It's a relief to get to the airport.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig drinks two Jim Beam-and-Cokes in quick succession and does his best to make himself comfortable in the narrow seat. The airline seems to think it should not cater for tall passengers, and he just knows his legs will be horribly cramped by the time they land. How Crawford will survive he doesn't know.

He spares the briefest glance at Fujimiya, who is surreptitiously holding hands with Crawford. It's at least good to know his influence is still holding strong.

 _I bet I could get him to kiss you here, too._

 _Don't you dare._

Schuldig grins and orders another drink.

  


* * *

  
They move from terminal to terminal when they land, and after another flight are in Hawaii. Aya stands looking at the blue sea. His parents came here on their honeymoon, and always meant to come back. Their twenty-fifth anniversary would have been this year.

"Why didn't we just fly to Tokyo?" he asks.

"It doesn't hurt to change planes," Crawford says. "And I promised myself I'd come here."

"What's following us?" Aya asks. He's not as angry at being kept in the dark as he expected, he finds.

"Maybe nothing," Crawford says. "I'm a creature of habit and caution."

"You live ten minutes ahead of everyone else. You don't have time to form habits," Aya says, and is happy to make him smile.

They spend forty-eight hours in Honolulu. It's almost like a holiday, and when Crawford buys them both ridiculous fruit-filled cocktails Aya and Schuldig drink obediently.

This is a last memory of freedom, Aya thinks. He clings to Crawford that night, feeling fingers stroking his hair.

"Brad," he says quietly. "In Tokyo, you know --"

He is cut off by kisses.

"Ran," Crawford says, and drives all his words away.

He is not sure what he meant to say.

  


* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_II. Japan_

  
Before they board the plane, Crawford accesses an email account from a public terminal. He hesitates over which address to send to, but decides that any will do. They will all feed into the real account quickly enough. He enters two words, and the mail is sent.

This is what he writes: _pepper artichoke_.

This is what it means: _team inbound, backup required_.

They have a series of such random codes. He remembers Nagi trying not to giggle at the names of vegetables, and knows he won't have forgotten.

The flight is dull, but comfortable. None of them could face another long cramped journey. He spends the first hour talking with Aya, then when both his companions are asleep goes over plan after plan in his mind.

In Narita they are crossing the crowded concourse when the announcement comes.

"Passenger Crawford, recently arrived from Honolulu, please pick up a courtesy telephone."

He finds one. He picks it up. His voice is calm and controlled.

"Crawford," he says.

"Why are you here?"

"This isn't the place. Where can we meet?"

"Explain _now_."

He hesitates. This isn't quite the boy he remembers. But it's someone with the resources he needs.

He explains.

  


* * *

  
The hotel is luxurious and expensive. Aya is not impressed. He has killed in rooms like these, and Crawford's room in New York was better.

He feels unsettled and unsure of himself. Tokyo looks as it always did, and smaller than he remembers. He wants the world to be full of possibility and mystery as it was when he was a boy, as it was in Crawford's arms. Instead he sees the city he has known all his life, the signs offering him long-known items and amusements.

He should go to Aya-chan. He imagines her face, he imagines holding her, keeping her safe forever. She does not need his protection now, he thinks, and does not go. She is under Takatori protection. He puts his hands flat against the glass, looking down on the city. He owes Takatori a debt. What will Omi ask of him?

He stares down at the cars below. Something terrible is following them, he knows. Crawford hasn't told him the whole truth. He cannot pretend otherwise, here in this city he knows, watching Schwarz run back to their old masters. He owes Crawford a debt. He'll repay it, and Crawford will tell him the truth.

  


* * *

  
"He won't meet with us?"

Schuldig cannot believe what he's hearing.

"Not yet."

"Nagi's really a fucking Kritiker."

It's funny, all at once.

"Can we be Kritiker too?"

"Don't leave," Crawford says.

"Does it pay well? Do we have to _believe_ in good, right and justice?"

"Don't leave."

Schuldig looks at him, shaking his head.

"Is this your plan? Is this _necessary?_ "

"Schuldig," Crawford says, and his voice is thin, "please, don't leave."

Even the silence is expensive in this hotel. Schuldig looks away.

"I came back," he says.

He doesn't like being the one with this sort of power.

  


* * *

Aya follows the woman into a large room. It is richly, tastefully furnished. Omi stands in the centre, looking more at home than he should. There are lines under his eyes, and he looks far older than Aya remembers.

"Hello," he says, and the voice is the same.

"Hello, Omi," Aya says, and watches him hide some change of expression. "It's good to see you."

"Aya," Omi says, and he isn't Takatori at all. "Are you well?"

"Yes," Aya says. "I have something to ask you, Omi. A favour."

He tells Omi almost everything. He would keep nothing back, but he sees Omi's face go still and closed when he hears Schwarz have returned. Omi can never forget Ouka, he thinks, and speaks only of Crawford as someone who wants to build bridges, who showed good-will to him.

"Omi, please," he says. "I can't explain it, but I know Crawford wants to see Nagi like I want to see Aya-chan."

Omi looks at him in pity.

"Naoe Nagi is not like Aya-chan," he says finally.

"Of course," Aya says, "but --"

"Aya --" Omi pauses, shakes his head. "I'll speak with Crawford," he says. "I'll speak with Nagi too."

Aya breathes again.

  


* * *

  
It feels like he has never left Tokyo. Crawford keeps a respectful look on his face as Takatori Mamoru looks at him in distrust and calculation, no longer an innocent.

"I'm advised you do not break contracts. Yet you didn't protect Takatori Reiji from Weiß," Takatori says.

"He had already removed Schwarz from our position as bodyguards, we were no longer under obligation to keep him safe," Crawford says. He wonders if Nagi told Takatori how much he enjoyed holding down the guards for Farfarello.

"I'm advised only you and Schuldig are seeking employment," Takatori says, his voice chill.

"Yes." The boy should learn to hide his emotions better. "Farfarello won't come to Japan."

"Hn. Why should I employ Eszett personnel?"

"We're not Eszett." Crawford drops the act and leans over the desk. "And we're far superior to your people. I'm sure you've been advised of that, Mr Takatori. False modesty has never been one of Naoe Nagi's failings."

The boy tries to stare him down. "You'd be subordinate to Naoe-san."

"Acceptable." He can handle Nagi.

"What did you do to Fujimiya Aya?" Takatori asks softly.

"I've shown Mr Fujimiya that we're not enemies," Crawford says.

Takatori nods. They're in.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig isn't amused to be told that Nagi will co-ordinate Schwarz's first job for Takatori.

"I'm going to kick him from one end of Japan to the other," he mutters, frowning as Crawford takes a painfully-indrawn breath.

"Are you seeing anything?" Schuldig asks.

"Death. Fire."

"I won't get myself roasted," Schuldig says, offhand.

Crawford looks aside. When he speaks, it's in his calm professional voice.

"Nagi says Rosenkreuz is after us. _Berger's_ team is what's following us."

Schuldig looks at him and pretends he's calm. He thinks he himself hears the flames. Berger always has a pyrokinetic on his team.

  


* * *

  
Crawford's headache hasn't lifted since coming to Japan, the shifting futures jostling for space in his mind. He has a prescription he could fill, but he uses Schuldig's instead. Telepaths' headaches make his look like an excuse, and Schuldig's pills mean he still gets the visions, but now they are cushioned and merely interesting.

 _You'll fucking melt your brain._

 _So don't give them to me._

Schuldig's long-suffering sigh reverberates in his mind.

Right now, Crawford can see absolutely nothing important happening this evening. So he's in Aya's room, drinking imported whisky. The muted lighting makes Aya's hair seem an even richer colour. There's a mental hiss of irritation, and he knows Schuldig is gone.

"I'm seeing Nagi," he says. "Thank you, Ran."

Aya smiles at him, wide and honest. His pleasure is real, Crawford knows, and makes him look even lovelier. _Far too much whisky,_ Crawford thinks. He wants to make Aya happy. He's always believed in giving value for value, even if Schuldig laughs at him as a failed Calvinist.

"Ran. Go see your sister. Just go."

Aya takes his hand and pulls him close for a kiss. Crawford holds him tight, burying his hands in Aya's beautiful hair.

  


* * *

  
Aya stands outside the flower shop for almost an hour, until he's sure he looks like a madman or a pervert. People come and go, and he sees that business is not as brisk as he remembers. Shortly before the shop will close he rushes forward, one step ahead of his fear, and throws open the door.

"Good afterno--"

Her voice fades away. They stand in silence, staring at each other, then they're both running. A flowerpot falls and shatters, then Aya-chan slams into him, throws her arms tight about him as he clings on to her as if he will never let go. Her hair smells sweet against his face as he sobs.

"Aya," he says at last, his voice hoarse. "Aya." He is glad he can cry. It is something he could not have done only a few months ago. For a few brief moments the world is as it should be, and he is home at last. She touches his hair with hands dirty from re-potting plants.

"Brother," she says, "oh, _Ran_."

Only one other person calls him that. He hears a murderer's voice, feels a murderer's arms wrapped tight about him.

He is cold as ice.

  


* * *

  
Crawford sits patiently. Finally the door opens.

"Crawford," Nagi says.

He is taller, looks older. A year should not have changed him so much.

"Nagi."

Nagi's gaze is steady, he seems as quiet as ever. Like all the best lies - like Crawford and Aya - it has a measure of truth, but Crawford knows what can happen if the quiet breaks.

"Schuldig was eager to come."

"Did you think it more courteous not to involve telepathy in this meeting?" Nagi asks. "No matter. Takatori thinks we can't work together."

"We worked together long enough," Crawford says.

"In the past, Team Leader. This is not your team."

"We have a common goal," Crawford says. Nagi's still Schwarz, even if he wants to pretend otherwise.

Nagi seems suddenly almost agitated.

"Crawford, listen to me. We can make something new for ourselves. We don't have to be locked in by the past. If Farfarello can have a normal life so can we."

"Whatever Farfarello has isn't normal," Crawford says wryly. "The current situation -- why are Rosenkreuz hunting their alumnae?"

"Someone killed several of their agents recently."

"Who?" Crawford asks.

Nagi smiles in a way no one outside of Schwarz has ever seen.

"Me."

  


* * *

  
"So Nagi's a Kritiker and we get to _back up_ Weiß?"

Crawford looks conciliatory. In Schuldig's opinion it's not a look he can pull off.

"Takatori will see our use."

"We should have stayed in America."

"Rosenkreuz," Crawford says. "Berger's team of hunters."

Schuldig picks at a spot on the table irritably. This is so _stupid_. Next Crawford will tell him they have nine-to-five jobs and should take up golf.

"After we kill Berger, do we still work for Takatori?"

"For now."

Schuldig looks up quickly. Crawford is smiling.

"Nagi won't want to stay a salaryman forever," he says.

Schuldig grins.

  


* * *

  
Omi wants Aya to stand with Weiß. He doesn't want to, but can hardly refuse. At least he is not team leader. Neither Ken nor Yohji look well, and the new member has a bruised look in his eyes.

"It's been a while," Ken says, and ignores him.

"Yohji," Aya says, "Omi said you were in Germany."

"Yeah," Yohji says. "Killing girls. It's something I've a real talent for."

"Yohji," Aya says in horror.

"Ah, leave him be," Ken says from the couch. "He's just tired."

"Yeah," Yohji says. "I'll be OK."

None of them ask what he's been doing in America, how he's been living. None of them ask about Aya-chan. He finds himself taking up his old position by reflex, leaning against the wall, arms defensively crossed. It doesn't feel good to be back.

It's a relief when the woman who showed him into Omi's office enters and begins the mission briefing. It's more of a relief when Omi shows up. Looking at the others' blank faces, Aya realises that he is the only one who knew who controlled Weiß. The atmosphere feels strained, hostile.

"This is the last time," Aya says, afterwards.

"Yes," Omi says. "It is."

  


* * *

  
Crawford stands beside Schuldig, looking down at the scene from a high roof. Schuldig is sulking, glaring down at Weiß and the Eszett enemies they face.

"It's insulting, us being left as back up," he says.

"Things will change," Crawford says absently. It looks like Eszett's experiments have borne fruit. The creatures fighting Weiß are inhuman in their movements despite their childish appearance. He's glad he was taken to Rosenkreuz years ago rather than now. He stiffens as the future chases across his vision.

"What was that? What did you see?" Schuldig says, turning to him.

"Nothing. Stay out of my mind."

"Excuse me for being interested."

It's difficult to hear him over the flames and the coming storm. Crawford regrets not taking the painkillers. He gets a quick flash of Aya, strangling. He doesn't pause before speaking.

"Schuldig, tell Aya to watch out for Kudou."

"Trouble in the ranks?" Schuldig asks. "Right, he's warned. Shouldn't we get down there? Go inside?"

"Wait, wait," Crawford says, and the visions clear to show him clear skies after a storm, the rumble of thunder fading. "He's coming."

Schuldig leans out over the edge, grinning.

"Now this really is a reunion," he says.

  


* * *

  
The bullets hang in mid-air before Aya's face, then fall to the ground. He hears footsteps coming closer and spins round.

 _Fujimiya. Watch out for Kudou, he's planning something._

He spares a quick glance back up towards where Crawford said he'd be.

 _Who did you_ think _was speaking to you?_

Nagi stands, unarmed, facing the Eszett children. He seems coldly indifferent to his surroundings.

"Don't move," he says, "you'll live if you don't."

The children throw themselves at him, and Aya watches, appalled, as their limbs distort and break, leaving them helpless on the ground.

"I'd really advise you to stop," Nagi says. He steps casually over the bodies and Weiß form up to meet him. His eyes are blank and cold. Aya remembers the thin, small child who came unarmed and fearless to tell him to exchange Aya-chan for Sakura. He has never looked at Nagi's eyes till now. _This_ is what Crawford came to Tokyo to meet. This was never a child, he thinks. He has his sword half-drawn when Nagi looks straight at him.

"Fujimiya Aya," he says as Omi runs between them.

"Nagi-kun is our partner!" Omi yells.

This isn't Omi, Aya thinks.

Nagi walks on.

  


* * *

  
It's time. Schuldig rolls his shoulders and grins in excitement.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes," Crawford says.

He sounds like his old self. It takes someone who knows him really well to hear the strain. Fujimiya would be fooled outright.

"I suppose this city's not so bad," Schuldig says. "Good seafood, anyway."

Crawford looks at him with that exasperated expression that means he's trying not to laugh.

"I'll buy you sushi later," he says.

"Good," Schuldig says. He wants to say more, but they never have, and to do so now would be to say too much.

They can talk later.

  


* * *

  
Aya sees Yohji step behind him, and tenses for attack. The wire loops around his neck, but Yohji doesn't seem to want to kill him just yet.

"Don't go in there!" Yohji says. "Leave them be. They'll make me someone new, someone who doesn't have to remember."

"You're talking about Eszett," Aya says, as the others stop and look at them in horror. "Is that what you want? The people who made those things, you want them touching your mind?"

Yohji doesn't look back at the fallen children.

"I just want to forget," he says, and yells at the others, "If you go in there, I swear I'll kill him!"

"Aya!" Omi yells, and he sounds so much like his old self that Aya wants to cry.

"Don't worry about me! Get in there and complete the mission!" Aya shouts, and brings his sword round fast. It severs the wire, which snaps back at Yohji. Aya should use the brief moment of surprise to his advantage, should run forward while Yohji staggers back. This is his friend he is facing, a friend who goes into combat stance with an angry, unhappy look on his face.

Aya does not run forward.

  


* * *

  
Crawford watches Berger confuse and torment the little Weiß fools. If it goes on much longer they'll kill each other and never know what happened. Berger stands to one side, a thoughtful look on his face as if he really has better things to be doing, but will allow his enemies the courtesy of waiting around till they're all dead. Berger's hair is green, precisely the colour Crawford always hated when Schuldig used to dye his hair. It must be a telepath thing, Crawford thinks.

"He's to your left," he says loudly, and the three Weiß agents jump and turn.

"Crawford," Berger says. "I've been looking for you."

"Here I am," Crawford says, and to the others, "get out of here, quick! I'll take care of him."

They run, and Berger faces him, calm.

Crawford rushes him in an attack he knows Berger isn't expecting. Berger expects to be shot, to have the rest of Schwarz attack while Crawford distracts him. These futures are clear to him. Berger flings up a hand and grasps his, and Crawford feels claws sink deep into his mind. Something wrenches inside and he feels blood running down his face.

 _Fortune teller,_ Berger thinks scornfully.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig tracks his quarry down by the sharp tang of fear in the minds of Weiß. Hidaka and some kid Schuldig doesn't know are facing, oh _fuck_ , Giesl.

Schuldig looks at what's left of the door. The bastard has melted through _metal_. Well, maybe he's tired himself out and will only be able to blow smoke-rings.

Inside Schuldig hears a harsh German accent calling Schwarz failures. This is it. _This is Crawford's vision,_ he thinks. He takes a deep, hot metal-scented breath. Time to make a good entrance.

 _Hey! Who are you calling a failure?_

He steps into the flames.

  


* * *

  
Aya and Yohji have been fighting forever. Yohji always annoyed him in the flower shop, with his lax attitude to timekeeping and his disturbing remarks about young girls. Yohji is really annoying him now he's trying to kill Aya, but not so much that Aya wants to kill him in return. It's with relief that Aya manages to manoeuvre him round, and to run into the building.

It's even better to meet up with the others, and have Yohji confronted with the truth about his new allies. Even for Eszett they're crazy, Aya thinks. Yohji's face clears and something like his old sense of humour comes back into his eyes as he squares off against his Eszett girlfriend.

"Go on!" he yells. "I can deal with her!"

Aya looks at him and pauses. He shouts, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Yohji grins. "I told you, I've got a real talent for this kind of thing."

Aya doesn't hesitate. He acts on trust that this really is the old Yohji, that this really is his friend. He turns and runs, determined to find the heart and brains of this Eszett operation and to finish this.

Once it's over, he can go home.

  


* * *

  
Crawford is dying. He's angry and scared and can't do a damn thing. Berger is killing him, slowly and thoroughly.

 _Crawford. Hold him down._

 _Nagi?_

Crawford can't see the future. It is completely shut off to him. So he acts on trust that he really does hear Nagi, and that Nagi is still in some form his ally. He imagines flinging himself on Berger, and feels Nagi all around. Another painful wrenching and he is free of Berger's mind and safe in his own again. Berger looks disoriented, then Berger looks very dead as the force that rolls through Crawford's mind takes form and pierces him through the heart. It looks like Farfarello, but it feels purely like Nagi. _Something_ new _, Crawford._

Crawford opens his eyes and collapses. He's soaked in his own blood and has the worst headache of his life. He doesn't mind. It proves he's still alive. _Something new_ , he thinks. _Thank God, you little bastard._

The future skates across his mind and his eyes widen. Bombs, and neither Schuldig nor Aya know about them. Aya has Weiß to get him out, he tells himself. Schuldig only has him. He struggles up and staggers towards the door.

  


* * *

  
Schuldig backs up against hot metal. Flames are all around him; it's getting harder to breathe. Giesl is really pissing him off with his superciliousness and his fucking more-German-than-thou accent. The bastard plays with a ball of fire, ready to incinerate him.

 _Schuldig. Do as I say._

 _Nagi?_

He doesn't waste time on the whys and wherefores, just throws his jacket as instructed, and Giesl distractedly watches it. With the last bit of speed he has left, he's across the room and behind the bastard.

"Surprise," Schuldig says, and snaps his neck.

Nagi's giving _him_ pointers?

"Smart-ass kid," he mutters.

  


* * *

  
"Yohji!" Aya screams as the explosions rock the building.

He watches the masonry falling and runs forward. His mind is a white blank as he pulls Yohji up and looks around for a safe exit. Omi has already dragged Ken away. Aya drapes one of Yohji's arms across his shoulders and makes him take step after unsteady step. He has no thought except to keep them moving. If he starts to think, his confusion over the friends who are enemies and the enemies who are friends will make him falter.

"M'head hurts," Yohji slurs. "Drank too much."

There is blood running down his face, blood darkening his hair. His steps are getting less and less steady. Aya refuses to think about it.

"Yeah," he says, as they take step after step after step. He's almost dragging Yohji along bodily now. "Ken's had to cover your shift. He says he's going to kill you."

"Don't think -- don't think he'll have to," Yohji whispers. "Get the hell out, Aya."

Aya doesn't bother answering.

 _This way._

The dust swirls apart and he gets a glimpse of a thin, dark boy. Aya blinks, and the figure is gone.

He drags Yohji in that direction.

  


* * *

  
 _Crawford!_

He gets a response at last and grabs onto Crawford's mind, running down the corridors till he sees him.

"Bomb," Crawford says as Schuldig stops him falling. He looks like shit, and Schuldig knows that he himself looks no better.

They run but it's too late. As they fall someone catches Crawford. Schuldig looks up at Nagi, who makes the _Schwarz look shit_ count three for three.

"About time," he says.

"I'm too _tired_ to do this again," Nagi says, a familiar complaint, taking Schuldig's wrist in a wiry grip.

"Do what?" Schuldig says.

Their surroundings twist and distort.

  


* * *

  
Aya turns away from Ken's bedside. The doctors say he'll live, but he looks too pale, too much like Aya-chan did for Aya to be easy. Yohji's sleeping, and looks peaceful. He'll be all right, Aya thinks, Yohji has a hard head.

He lets himself begin to think about things, remembering the familiar weight of his sword in his hands, the feeling of having his team around him. It had felt right, but he doesn't want to be a killer any more. He doesn't want his friends to be killers either.

"Aya," Omi says.

"I thought Weiß was finished," Aya says quietly.

"It is now. What do you want, Aya?"

He wants to go home. He wants Omi's eyes to be young again. He wants Crawford's arms about him. He wants it to be the morning of Aya-chan's sixteenth birthday and to persuade his parents to come with them to the fair. He wants to work in the flower shop with the others. He wants not to know anyone who has ever killed another human being.

"Omi," he begins.

"Mamoru."

Omi looks ashamed.

"Thank you for looking after my sister, Takatori Mamoru-san," Aya says, and turns away.

Everything is over.

  


* * *

  
Crawford lies in a hospital bed, giving thanks for the Takatori medical plan. Schuldig is pacing up and down, to the nurses' disgust. He has a burn mark on his face and has lost a lot of his hair and is in a foul mood. Nagi is watching him, a distant, supercilious expression on his face, the one that never fails to make Schuldig furious.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Schuldig says, "refusing to meet us, ordering us round on the fucking _phone_ , refusing to meet _me_ \--"

"I'm meeting you now, aren't I?" Nagi says, and his voice is so familiarly sulky that Crawford begins to laugh weakly.

They both look at him like he's lost his mind.

"We have to talk," Nagi says.

"Damn right we have to talk," Schuldig says. "Telepathy? _Teleportation?_ How the hell --"

"My Eszett file said I showed potential," Nagi says. "They were right." He looks down at the floor shyly, letting his hair fall over his face. He looks like a particularly filthy twelve-year-old.

"Come off it," Schuldig says. "That act never worked on us."

"Gentlemen," Crawford says warningly as Nagi scowls. They both shut up, deferring to him automatically.

Good.

  


* * *

  
Aya is a stubborn man, who refuses help. Ran wants to be a different person. He humbly accepts the help Omi offers, the equivalent of the insurance that he and Aya-chan would have received if their parents' death had not been judged a suicide. Aya-chan can finish her schooling, even go to college if she wants. He tells himself he will think about that for himself too. Right now it's enough to be with Aya-chan.

He says his goodbyes. Omi is unreachable, enclosed behind walls of secretaries and assistants. Ken is troubled, vainly trying to hide his break-down. Yohji has never woken up. Weiß is gone at last.

He has a phone number he should ring. Days after he first meant to, he calls Crawford and asks to see him.

"I want a normal life," he says. "My sister -- I need to take care of her. Weiß -- the others -- Omi should never have brought them back together. None of us are who we should be."

Crawford looks at him steadily.

"You want something new," he says.

"Yes."

"You're saying goodbye."

"Yes."

"Ran," Crawford says after a pause. "I don't --" He stops. "Never mind."

They look at each other in silence.

  


* * *

  
Crawford knows this moment had to come. He has got what he wanted from Aya and it's right that the ties should be cut. He has most of his team, he has a backer who wants the remnants of Eszett stamped out and who doesn't see how bored Nagi will be once that's accomplished. It's right that this should come to an end.

He's just surprised by his emotional reaction, that's all. For this to work he had to get involved. The best lies don't stray too far from the truth, but Crawford has always prided himself on his clear-headedness. He has never before preferred the lie. He hears himself about to plead, and stops. He wants to, but can't. Pleading with Schuldig, pleading with Aya -- he doesn't know how he came to be this person. He wants to seize Aya, wants to keep him close, wants to make him somehow Schwarz, wants on some level to see Schuldig's look of disgust. He wants to tell Aya that even Schwarz are something new, that he doesn't have to go. He wants to say in words the things he doesn't have to say to Schuldig.

He does none of these things.

  


* * * 

  
_III. One Year Later_

  
Aya doesn't want to go to the film premiere, but Omi's sent tickets, and Aya-chan is overjoyed at the idea of seeing Brad Pitt in person. She likes the film, although Aya isn't convinced by any character's skill with a sword. At the reception he shepherds Aya-chan through the crowd, telling her she can't have anything alcoholic.

"I'm almost twenty-one, Brother," she laughs.

"You're still my little sister," he says as Omi appears before them.

"Let me save you from this tyrant, Aya-chan," he says. "Come and meet the stars."

"Oh, Mamoru-san!" she squeals. "Come on, Brother!"

"You go," he says. He wanders round for a time, scanning the crowd. It's a large gathering, there's a Takatori present, therefore -- he doesn't let himself finish the thought.

The sudden laughter in his head is particularly mocking.

 _Hey, Fujimiya. Crawford says hi._

He sees them, watching him. Crawford lifts a hand and waves, smiling slightly. He looks well. As Aya waves back, Aya-chan rushes over, clutching her autograph-book.

"Do you know those gaijin?" she asks, curious.

"I used to," he smiles.

He looks back, but they're gone. It's all right. He kisses the top of Aya-chan's head. He has everything he needs.

  


* * * * * * * * * *


End file.
